


Accident Forgiveness

by HeartlessMemo



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Crack, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Motorcycles, Sassy Reader, Short Reader, damaged library books, do the Avengers have liability insurance?, personal injury cases, snarky ex-assassin, tracksuit mafia - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:48:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25134142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartlessMemo/pseuds/HeartlessMemo
Summary: All you want is to enjoy your latte. Is it your fault you happen to live in a building owned by a super hero? In which the reader continually gets caught up in the Avengers’ fights and it starts to get old. Especially when a certain broody, ex-assassin refuses to admit when he’s at fault. Featuring Hawkeye and the tracksuit mafia!
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 65





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic will be multiple chapters (probably 2 or 3). It is primarily based on the Hawkeye comics by Matt Fraction and Tales of Suspense: Hawkeye and Winter Soldier by Matthew Rosenberg. You might notice one line is directly lifted from Tales of Suspense (Hawkeye talking about letting the bad guys keep their teeth). I just love the sarcastic, punchy humor of Hawkeye in the comics as well as the friendship dynamics between the two of them in Tales of Suspense. If you guys enjoy this I’d love it if you could comment or leave kudos! I thrive off of positive reinforcement. Thank you!

One minute you’re walking back to your apartment in Bed-Stuy, enjoying the warmth of the caramel latte cupped in your hands.

The next minute you’re sputtering with a facefull of spattered milk foam as your coffee cup is impaled by a bright purple arrow.

_Hawkguy!_

You love your landlord. You really do. But how many times have you warned him about target practice on the roof?! 

“Oops!” Clint Barton’s chagrined voice floats down from the top of your building. “My bad! Hey, you might wanna--”

_OOMPH!_

It feels like you’ve just been hit by a speeding car. A blur of leather, muscle and metal zooms through your peripheral vision and slams into you, sending you sprawling on the sidewalk. You throw out your hands to catch yourself and hear a decisive, sickening snap as your right wrist meets the concrete. 

“...duck!” Clint finishes.

_Frickin’ super heroes._

Cradling the injured limb to your chest, you crawl away from the street, huddling in the shadow of a front stoop as the two Avenger rejects do battle with a...well, you can only describe it as a goon squad. A group of about twenty guys in tracksuits carrying automatic weapons. You watch the two men’s fluid, brutal movements as they take down their opponents with professional grace. You’d be really impressed if you weren’t so pissed off.

“Thanks, for helping, Buck. I’m gonna call in the-- _Jesus!_ ,” Clint’s standing over the last guy Bucky took down, staring at the guy’s pulverized face. “...I let my guys keep their teeth, man!”

Bucky rolls his eyes. He flinches when his gaze lands on your stormy face as you rapidly hop over fallen tracksuits, hugging your broken wrist to your side.

“Hey, _Hawkguy_!” you barrel up to Clint, kicking him in the shin. “You owe me a latte!”

You barely come up to Clint’s chest and yet the archer shifts nervously on his feet and his shoulders slump down. He looks like the human embodiment of one of those dog shaming memes and Bucky snorts in glee. But his merriment vanishes when you round on him with narrowed, storm cloud eyes.

“And _you!_ ” you screech. “You broke my arm!”

Bucky’s eyes widen for an instant but he shrugs and tries to play it off, “Not my fault you have shitty balance. You broke your own arm!”

“I--WHAT!??”

Just as you’re gearing up for an epic scolding with some vicious chest-poking thrown in, Clint jumps in between you with a placating look on his face.

“Hey, hey, hey! We’re all friends, right? What’s a broken bone between friends?”

You level a deadpan look at your landlord as you say, “I’ve never met this man before in my life, Clint.”

“And I don’t need to defend myself to civilians who insert themselves into dangerous situations,” Bucky adds helpfully.

“Insert myself! I was just getting a coffee--!”

“His name’s Bucky,” Clint interjects, “he can be a little broody...a little murdery at times...but he’s really a good guy when you get down to it…”

Bucky snorts and runs a hand through his long, dark hair. You have to crane your neck a little to look up at the six-foot-something assassin and when you do you find him looking down his nose at you with a bland smirk. Insufferable! You move to put your hands on your hips in preparation for a renewed scolding but the sudden motion reminds you that your wrist is definitely broken and you wince against the pain.

The haughty look in Bucky’s eyes flickers for just a second as he watches you hiss and clutch your arm. 

“Whatever--Clint, call me an ambulance, will you?”

\---

A few days later Clint throws a pizza party on the roof and invites the whole building. He claims it’s in your honor, to make up for what happened, but there’s a potluck party on the roof almost every weekend so the gesture isn’t all that impressive. Still. He does hand you a steaming latte from your favorite coffee shop as you walk into the party. When you reach out to take the cup his eyes light up at the sight of your cast.

“Purple!?” he gushes, gently taking hold of the cast.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah...don’t flatter yourself, Hawkguy. I just like purple is all…” you assure him, not wanting to give him any ideas. Look, _you’re human_. You won’t deny that your landlord is a tall, blond, beefcake with an adorable dog and...occasional funny jokes. But you also live in the same building and you’ve seen the stream of different women in and out of his apartment. You’re not interested in this particular train wreck.

“Hey, Buck,” he calls out, and your eyes widen in alarm as you notice the dark-haired super-spy lurking on the edge of the party. “C’mere and say hi to your favorite traffic cone.”

Clint turns back to you as Bucky’s walking over and nudges you in the side, “Get it? Traffic cone, because--”

“Got it, Clint,” you roll your eyes.

Bucky slinks over to join you. His long hair is pulled back in a messy bun at the nape of his neck and the sharp line of his jaw is dusted with stubble. He looks over at you and you realize his beautiful, long lashes perfectly frame his blue eyes. Okay, so when you said you weren’t interested in train wrecks--

“Hey, Bucky,” you greet him, looking up at him through your lashes. Your lips curl upward involuntarily. How come you hadn’t noticed how handsome he is before? Oh, right. You’d been distracted with chastising him for BREAKING YOUR ARM. 

Bucky nods silently in greeting, seemingly immune to your wiles. 

Clint isn’t. 

“Hey! Am I--,” he gestures between the two of you with a wide grin on his lips, “Am I sensing something here?! How wild!”

“Clint, you’re delusional,” you snap and start to turn away toward the food table but he skips in front of you to halt your progress.

“Wait, wait, we have to sign your cast!” he pulls a Sharpie out of his back pocket and grabs for your arm. 

“Ouch! Be gentle, dipshit!” you grouse, but you’re a little pleased that he’s apparently thought enough about this little “I’m Sorry” party to bring a Sharpie with him to sign your cast.

“There ya go!” he says with a final flourish, giving you back your arm.

You look down to see that he’s drawn a little bull’s eye with an arrow sticking out of it next to the words, _“Sorry my reckless friend ran you over. Hawk_ ** _EYE_** _.”_ He’d bolded and underlined the “eye” in Hawkeye as if you’d ever give up teasing him about his superhero identity. 

You laugh and give him a little hug, “Thanks, Clint. Well, I’m gonna get some pizza--”

“No!” he cries, reaching over to drag Bucky forward and shoving the pen into his hand. “Bucky has to sign too.”

You squint your eyes at Clint and he smooths his face into a look of bland innocence, shrugging and frowning at you as he mouths, “What???”

Bucky sighs through his nose like he’s being severely put upon and you scoff, “Don’t worry, Bucky, you don’t have to--”

“Lemme see,” he says and his voice is a soft, deep drag along your nerve endings. Holy Hell. He reaches for your arm and cradles the wounded wrist in his metal hand, letting the pen hover over the cast as he considers what to write. He takes his time and you just stand there like a fish on a hook, staring at his beautiful lips as he darts out a tongue in concentration and starts writing. You can feel Clint watching you watch Bucky and you blush to the roots of your hair.

“There,” Bucky says, releasing your arm and capping the Sharpie. “Hope you feel better soon.”

He’s looking into your eyes and you’re falling under the spell of his gaze. His lips curve in a sexy grin and you mutter, breathless, “Thanks!”

You stumble over to the pizza boxes and surreptitiously glance down at your cast. His handwriting is old-fashioned and elegant. You bite your lip to keep from squealing in anticipation as you read his words.

_“You should be more careful. XOXO. -Bucky”_

You turn back to find him bent over with laughter. 

_Frickin’ Superheroes._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your wrist is finally healed after your run-in with a certain brooding freight train. You score a great deal on an adorable little motorbike and fix it up with your dad. All you want is a nice Sunday ride...what could go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The pivotal point of this chapter was clearly inspired by the motorcycle scene in Captain America: Civil War. Thank you so much to everyone who has read and left kudos and comments on the first part! This is such a fun fic to write. I hope you enjoy the second installment.

The bike calls to you. It’s leaning up against a garage with a hand-written “For Sale” sign on it. It looks old, rusted, and well-used. Considering the low price scrawled on the sign you’re betting it needs some work.

_You need it._

You pull out your phone and open your frequent contacts.

“Hey dad? How would you feel about coming down to the city with your pick-up this weekend?”

Your dad’s gruff voice rumbles over the line, “Sounds awful. When and where?”

\---

You spend the weekend at your dad’s place in White Plains, fixing up the bike in the garage. Under the layers of rust and grime, it turns out to be a 2001 Honda Super Cub. Beyond a tune up and an oil change, the only thing really wrong with it is the body. Nothing a fresh coat of paint can’t fix. 

“This is a nice little bike, kiddo,” your dad congratulates you, wiping grease and sweat from his brow with an old rag. “You gonna keep it here or ride it around the city?”

You’re perched on a tall stool at your dad’s workbench, your short legs dangling as you consider, “It’d be fun to have it with me in the city on the weekends. I just gotta convince my landlord to let me keep it in his storage shed...I don’t want to leave it on the street…”

You hop off the stool to run your hand over the motorcycle’s refinished body. You’ve painted it in a sleek two-tone pattern: red and cream. _Hawkguy_ is going to be so jealous.

“I don’t think it’ll be a problem.”

\---

“Nah,” Clint waves you off as he unlocks the door to his apartment. You’ve been lurking out in the hallway waiting for him to get home. 

“What do you mean, ‘nah’?” you whine, following him inside without asking. Pizza Dog jumps up to greet you, nearly knocking you down in his enthusiasm. You smile and give him a quick hug before starting again. “You still owe me, Barton!”

Clint’s head has disappeared into the refrigerator and he emerges with a Chinese food box and his mouth already stuffed with lo mein.

“Wahhh doo eein?!” he chews his food, swallowing and trying again, “Whadya mean? I threw you an apology party, didn’t I? You know how long it’ll take me to clean out that shed to fit a motorcycle inside?”

“C’mon, Clint! If I leave it on the street it’ll get stolen. Or it’ll end up collateral damage in one of your little superhero battles,” you wheedle. You walk into the kitchenette and grab his arm, looking up at him with your biggest puppy dog eyes, “C’monnnn!”

Clint sighs dramatically and finally gives in.

“On one condition...”

\---

The bike struggles to reach 30 miles per hour under your combined weight and Clint’s massive form looks ridiculous clinging to you on the back of the little motor bike. But you have to admit--this is _pretty damn_ fun. 

“Weee!” Clint yells from behind you as you putter through the streets of Brooklyn with a giant smile on your face.

\---

People are passing you and giving you dirty looks as you make your way over the Brooklyn Bridge. _Well, futz them_. You’re enjoying your Sunday afternoon ride. You feel like a real rebel without a cause in your worn leather jacket and the bulbous, cherry red helmet you bought to match your bike. Nobody needs to know the saddle bag strapped to the back is full of library books and a take-out container from your favorite bakery.

The sun is just getting low and it’s orange-red glow reflects on the surface of the East River as you chug along. The sounds of car engines and the occasional curse from an annoyed motorist are suddenly interrupted by a long, deafening screech. You glance over your shoulder and your eyes widen in alarm as a black SUV barrels through traffic, heedlessly colliding with other vehicles as it clears a path over the bridge. 

“HOLY SH--”

The SUV screams past and you barely have time to process what you’re seeing before you’re suddenly, brutally thrown from your bike. You tuck your limbs into your body and slam into the cement with enough force to knock the wind out of you. You roll several feet before skidding to a stop. The leather jacket mostly saves you from road rash but your hands are a bloody mess and it feels like your whole middle is one big bruise. _What the fuck was that?_ It felt almost like someone pushed you off but that’s--

You look up just in time to see your bike zooming--well, doing it’s best to zoom--away with a dark figure riding it.

_Oh, hell no!_

\---

The red-wigged impostor is in handcuffs and leaning against the side of the SUV with a surly expression. Bucky glares at the woman, clearly connected with the Red Room and attempting to frame Natasha for the string of murders she committed over the last week.

“Don’t feel like talking, huh?” he shrugs, removing a knife from his belt and flipping it expertly in his hand. “Don’t worry, _mladshaya sestra_...I’ll help you find the words.”

The woman refuses to meet his eyes, fixing her gaze in the middle distance instead. Only the faintest sneer curling her lips indicates that she’s heard him at all.

Sam lands gracefully a few feet away and is already talking into his ear piece to call in backup. 

“Lotta damage, here,” he states, glancing around at the crashed cars and the wrecked motorcycle. “You’re almost as bad as Banner, Buck. Think you can manage one mission without smashing something?”

“Hey, I captured the target, didn’t I?” Bucky rolls his eyes and slips the knife back into his belt holster. 

Clint finally arrives, huffing and puffing after trying to keep up with the super soldier. He’s bent almost double, catching his breath, when his eyes light on the familiar red and cream motor bike lying mangled on the ground. 

“Hey...isn’t that--?”

All three superhero’s heads snap up as you come limping up to the scene. You’re carrying your helmet at your side and your hair is an impressive tangle whipping around your head in the breeze. When you lay eyes on the wrecked Super Cub you let out a shriek.

**_“MY BIKE!!”_ **

Bucky freezes in place, his eyes wide and every muscle tensed in anxiety.

“You gotta be _shittin’_ me,” he mumbles under his breath. 

Clint eyes him accusingly. He is _never_ going to hear the end of this…

You stand there looking down at your ruined bike and thinking about all the adventures you’d planned to have with her. You were going to take her to Coney Island...Rockaway beach...maybe even take a road trip to the Berkshires… Your poor sweet Cubby didn’t ask for this!

_“You!”_ you snarl, marching up to Bucky with your hands on your hips. “Why is it always you!? Do you have it out for me or something?”

Clint snorts and mutters, “He’s got somethin’ for you…”

_**“SHUT UP!”**_ you and Bucky both yell simultaneously.

You turn back to Bucky and arch your brow in expectation, “Well?”

The super-spy ex-assassin Avenger stumbles over his words, “I--uh, well...I didn’t mean...I didn’t know it was--”

“Didn’t know it was ME?” you finish for him with renewed fury. “Bucky! You can’t just go around shoving people off their motorcycles!”

“‘S hardly a motorcycle…,” he mumbles angrily. “More of a scooter if anything.”

“You! You...ugh!” you fall on him in a flurry of practically useless punches aimed at his chest. Bucky stands there looking bemused as you rain down fury with your tiny fists on his solid, immovable muscles.

“Hey!” Clint shouts in an excellent approximation of a frustrated dad voice. “Enough! Don’t do a hit on Bucky! That’s not nice.”

He puts his arms around you from behind and drags you away from the super soldier who looks--infuriatingly--unscathed. 

“But he stole my bike and wrecked it!” you whine, finally going limp and dropping from Clint’s hold.

Clint rolls his eyes to the sky like a martyr. 

“And do two wrongs make a right, young lady?”

“Pshh,” you scoff, shaking your head and leaning over your bike to check the saddle bag. You flip it open to find that the box containing your cherry pie has been pulverized and…

_**“MY LIBRARY BOOKS!!!”** _

\---

The next morning you’re awoken by the cacophony of sounds coming from the alleyway behind the building. It sounds like Monty Python building the frickin’ Trojan Rabbit. You growl and roll out of bed, falling to the floor and catching yourself on your bandaged hands, cursing at the stinging pain.

“Stupid…’vengers...think they can do whatever they want...just cuz they save the world sometimes…” you’re muttering under your breath as you stagger to your feet and pull the cord on your blinds to look out your bedroom window. 

The door to the supply shed is open and two guys are bent over your wrecked bike. You throw the window open in an instant and climb out onto the fire escape.

“Hey!” you bellow. “Uh--stop! That’s my bike! I know the Avengers, buds! And I can have them down here so fast--”

The two men crane their necks to look up at you. One of them is wearing a welding mask but the other one is definitely--

“Bucky?”

He looks up at you with a sheepish smile and gives a little wave with his metal hand.

“Hey, Kit Kat…” he greets and you frown in confusion until you look down and realize you’re wearing a baggy nightshirt you’d got at Hershey Park. It’s emblazoned with the Kit Kat logo. Even from two stories up you can see the gleam of humor in his eyes. You can also see...a lot more. He’s wearing a black tank top that shows off his impossibly toned shoulders and back. Your brain short circuits momentarily as you rake your eyes down his form. 

The man beside him flips up the mask and you see he’s an older guy with a sharp goatee. 

“Are we taking a social break or are we getting to work, Barnes? You know I gave up brunch to do this for you. _Brunch_ ,” the man voice drips with sarcasm.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, alright, Tony,” Bucky shakes his head and turns back to the bike. 

_Wait, Tony as in--?_

“Hey!” you call down and Bucky lifts his head up to lock eyes with you. How can those blue eyes still have so much power from so far away?? “You still owe me for the library books!”

Bucky laughs and turns back to the bike.

“I mean it! I have a clean library record, Bucky! I’m gonna have fines!”

“Don’t push it, doll!” he calls as Tony ignites the blow torch.

\---

A week later you scoot up to the curb on a side street near the Bedford Branch of the Brooklyn Public Library. Cubby has been restored to her former glory thanks to Bucky and Tony’s loving care and you give her an affectionate pat as you dismount and walk down the street toward the squat, brick library building. There may be grander libraries in New York but this is your neighborhood branch and it feels like home. You mutter and shake your head at the prospect of having to pay replacement fines for the books that Bucky ruined.

The librarian behind the desk is about your age with dyed bright red hair and a sleeve of tattoos that look like children’s book illustrations. _Cool._

“Hey--um,” you roll your eyes in irritation at yourself. “I have to pay some replacement fees? I kind of...got cherry pie all over some books.”

The librarian laughs good-naturedly and pulls up your account on her computer. She asks you for the titles and frowns at her screen. 

“Looks like...yeah--they’ve already been paid for,” she tells you with a shrug. “Guess you have a mysterious benefactor.”

You smile faintly and shake your head. _Mysterious, my ass._ You thank her and you’re about to leave when she stops you. 

“Do you want to pick up your hold?”

You don’t remember putting anything on hold...but you’ve had occasional bouts of late-night enthusiasm that resulted in excessive library catalog searches, maybe you forgot...

“Uh...sure,” you say and watch as she disappears into an office behind the circulation desk.

She returns a few minutes later with a slim paperback volume in her hands. She scans the barcode and slips the receipt into the book.

“Enjoy!” she says with a smile and you thank her once again. 

You glance down at the cover as you’re walking out and you let out a bark of laughter even as irritation spikes behind your eyes. 

_“Motorcycle Safety: Basics for Beginners”_

**_Bucky Frickin’ Barnes..._ **


End file.
